Dear Jules
by thewetbandit
Summary: Julian Lennon gets a letter from his famous father, but is he interested in a reunion? Bittersweet. Not ATU.


**DEAR JULES**

_25__th__ November, 1970._

_Dear Jules,_

_It's your daddy here. How are you, little one? I love you very much. I'm sorry I haven't seen you in so long. How's school? How's Mummy? I have a surprise for you. I'm coming on Saturday to take you to London for the day. What do you think of that? So be ready for all the fun we're going to have._

_Lots and lots of love,_

_Daddy._

Julian scrunched the letter into a ball and threw it on the floor. He had no desire to see his father, not now, not ever. He'd abandoned Mum, and for that Julian would never forgive him. He had no interest in going to London. After all, he was going to the pictures with Mum that day.

'Dad can sod off,' he muttered, clenching his fists. Mum knocked at the door.

'What is it?'

'Did you read your letter, sweetheart?,' she asked, poking her head around the door.

'Yeah. Dad's coming on Saturday.'

His mother's face darkened.

'Oh, that's nice,' she said, though Julian knew she was lying.

'I'm not going anywhere with him.'

'Why not, darling?'

'He never calls, he never writes, and then he just turns up like this. I hate him.'

'Oh Jules, I'm sure you don't mean that.'

'I do.'

Julian flopped onto his belly and buried his face in his pillow. His mother sighed and closed the door gently.

On Saturday morning, Julian moodily stabbed his toast with a knife.

'Jules, what are you doing?,' asked Paul. He'd agreed to mind Julian until John arrived. Julian's mother had gone to stay with her sister for the weekend.

'Nothing,' muttered the boy. Paul pushed Julian's fringe off his face.

'Why are you so sad, Jules, eh?'

'I hate Dad.'

'Why do you hate him?'

''Cos he's with Yoko now and he doesn't love me anymore.'

'Oh Julian, that's not true. He'll always love you.'

Julian let his knife fall to the floor with a clatter. There was fire in his brown eyes.

'Then why do I never see him?'

Paul was startled by the boy's anger.

'I don't know, Jules. You'll have to ask John that.'

Seeing the once happy little boy so twisted with fury, Paul loathed John. How could he do this to his son? It was despicable.

Julian ran upstairs without taking a single bite from his toast. Paul sipped his coffee, anticipating an argument when John arrived.

It was around noon when a Rolls Royce pulled into the driveway. John opened the door, his hair long, and took off his sunglasses.

'Julian?'

Paul emerged from the living room, Julian in his arms.

'Hello, John.'

'Paul, good to see you! And how's my best boy?'

Julian said nothing, glaring at his father.

'Aren't you going to give me a hug, Jules?'

Julian shook his head.

'What's your mother been saying about me?'

'John, don't make him take sides,' said Paul.

John frowned at Paul.

'And how is it any of your business?'

'Because I've been here looking after your son while you've been off in America with your new wife.'

'I wish Paul were my dad,' said Julian. John dropped his suitcase.

'That's lovely, Jules. Really nice welcome.'

He pushed past them and went into the kitchen. They could hear him banging cupboard doors and cursing.

Julian slithered from Paul's arms and trotted into the kitchen.

'You don't have to make such a fuss,' he said to his father.

John put on the kettle.

'So you're talking to me now?'

'If I have to.'

John lifted the boy and sat him on the counter. Julian swung his legs while John made tea.

'How have you been, Jules?'

Julian shrugged.

'Okay.'

'How's school?'

'Boring.'

'You've gotten very tall.'

'S'pose.'

Paul watched them from the doorway. The distance between father and son was agonising to witness. It was obvious that John would have to work hard for Julian's affections.

'Do you like tea, Julian?'

'Yeah.'

John sat on a stool facing Julian as he drank his tea. The boy didn't look at him but looked instead into his cup.

'So we'll be leaving for London soon. Are you ready?'

'Yeah, I s'pose.'

'Don't sound so excited.'

Julian ignored his father's sarcasm and slurped his tea.

'Can Paul come?'

Paul winced at the question. John was hurt.

'No, it's just us two.'

'Oh.'

They finished their tea and bundled into John's car. In London, John bought his son an ice-cream and they sat in front of Buckingham Palace to eat it.

'How's Mum, Jules?'

'Fine.'

'You know, you can come see me in America over Christmas. Would you like that?'

'S'pose.'

John was growing increasingly frustrated with the boy's monosyllabic answers.

'Why won't you talk to me, Jules?'

'Because you haven't talked to me since last summer.'

'I'm sorry, son.'

'Yeah, well, that's not good enough. I missed you.'

'I missed you, too.'

'Not enough to phone me, or write.'

'I'm so sorry, Julian. I've been very selfish.'

'Yes, you have.'

'What would you like to do now?'

'Go home to see Paul.'

'What's so great about bloody Paul?'

John didn't bother hiding his annoyance.

'Paul's been really nice to me. He buys me things and takes me to the pictures and bowling and stuff.'

'I can do those things with you.'

'No you can't. You don't even live in England.'

John had no comeback for that. Julian's disdain was painful. They walked around the city, John keeping his hat and sunglasses on to avoid being recognised, Julian trailing behind him. At around five, and tired of Julian's disinterest, they went home.

Paul was gone when they got there. He'd left a note, hoping they'd enjoyed their day and promising to return the next day.

Julian's eyes filled with tears when he read it.

'Why did he have to go?'

'Never mind, Julian. What would you like for tea?'

Julian wanted fish fingers but picked at them unenthusiastically when John placed a plate of them before him. The next day, John left for the airport at six o'clock. Julian watched the car drive away from his bedroom window. He didn't think he would, but he started to cry, and kept crying for a full hour.

_April, 1971_

_Dear Jules,_

_It's your dad again. Happy birthday, son. I know I said I'd be home for your party but I can't make it. I've been busy in the studio and it's just not possible. I'm so sorry, I'll bring you to New York this summer and we can do whatever you want. I love you very much and know that I'm proud of you._

_Lots of love,_

_Dad._

Julian rolled the letter into a ball and hurled it into the bin. He yanked the party hat off his head and snapped the string.


End file.
